


Cinnamon Muffins

by volvi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baking, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Shower Sex, cinnamon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volvi/pseuds/volvi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All John wanted to do was to make a batch of muffins. It was supposed to be a romantic gesture for his consulting detective, but as always at 221B things do not turn out as planned...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinnamon Muffins

John didn’t know what he’d had in mind when he came up with the idea of baking muffins together with the great consulting detective, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

It had started as a cute thing, just something silly to keep them both occupied. That and getting Sherlock to eat was the plan to begin with. The detective rarely ate by free will and when he did it was almost never something you could actually call food. Chocolate covered Digestive as well as toast was often on the menu, but a part from that John often had to nag. Hence baking had seemed like a great idea. Sherlock would not be able to resist something as sweet and definitely not if made by the doctor himself. What John had missed when constructing this perfect plan however was that Sherlock would want to help. How come he never ever, not in a million years, had offered a hand when it came to cooking before they got together, but now when they were in a relationship Sherlock wanted to be part of every little chore? Since five weeks back John could not remember one single occasion in which he had been alone in the kitchen. Even so, he had never actually wanted to help up until today. (If you do not count that time when he offered to cook dinner in the evening if John made breakfast wearing nothing but an apron the following morning, but you shouldn’t really, since all he did was ordering take out, even if John… let’s leave it at that shall we.) This explains why John, without giving it a second thought, said yes to his boyfriend’s offer. (Boyfriend, look at that! He never though that would be a word coming from his mouth. God, it still made him all giddy when thinking about it!)

It all went fine to begin with. Well, Sherlock may have mixed up the ingredients at first, so that they had to start from the beginning twice, but if the army had taught John anything it was to keep patience at all times. It was all rather romantic actually, John had put on some music and together they danced around (well, John did) in the kitchen, pouring milk, measuring sugar. It wasn’t until the muffins were in the oven things went downhill…

“Well that went smooth.” The batch was baking, now all they had to do was wait. “It should take about 15 minutes, so we got the time to clean up and put on the kettle. I guess I’ll be the one doing that so maybe you could go down to Mrs. Hudson and ask if she would like to join us for some newly baked, yeah?”

John was just about to comment on the absence of an answer when he felt something on his head. Something gooey was running down his forehead into his left eye. He didn’t need to reach up to know what had happened. In the calmest voice he could muster John said “Sherlock, did you just cracked an egg on my head?” The question didn’t need to be answered. Especially not since what followed was yet another one, this time at the backside of his sculp. He could feel the yolk slipping down his neck, ruining his collar. “Sherlock.” Still as cool as ice, but the voice wouldn’t last that way for long. “Why the hell are you beating me with eggs?” A third one was added to the good doctor. Before the detective got the joy of making it a quartet John acted. He fetched the wooden ladle with what was left of the batch and went to attack. While making a turn he aimed the batter at his lover. It landed on Sherlock’s right shoulder.

“John!” For a second Sherlock looked stunned and maybe even a bit cross, but it quickly turned into a fit of giggles and so a food war had begun. Flour was tossed as well as milk and cinnamon. (Lots and lots of cinnamon, even if, as Sherlock so nicely put it, John didn’t need any extra spicing.)

“Oh shit, we’re a mess!”

“So it would seem.” They laughed for what seemed like hours.

“This won’t do, we’ll have to take a shower and then clean this up. Come on you, let’s get these clothes off.” John hadn’t meant anything about that, except doing just what he said. No sexual innuendos, no nothing of the sort. Still Sherlock’s smile that couldn’t be described as anything but smug spoke otherwise. It well may be for the lack of trying, but as far as John was concerned little was to be set up against Sherlock wearing that expression. Therefore it may not have come as a surprise when clothes was hastily removed without any thought of trying to remove the stains of the chaotic baking. Into the shower they went and before they even got as far as turning on the taps they were kissing. Or kissing was not a word for it, not even snogging would do. For an outsider one would perhaps even be wondering whether or not the act they were up to was actually enjoyable, since it looked more like a continuation of the ingredient tossing than anything else. It wasn’t until hot water had started running down on the both of them that things started to grow a little more sincere. “Oh Sherlock, you git, how boring my life would be without you behaving like a four year old?” Once again he giggled.

Sherlock have always had a weak spot for John’s giggle. There was just something with it that sounded so perfectly innocent and genuinely happy. Like he hadn’t been to war for three years, trying to save lives that was already done for. Like he hadn’t got nearly mental of nightmares after his return to England, which almost had driven him to commit suicide. Like that two years after Sherlock’s fall had never happened. Sherlock quickly changed track of his thoughts, there was no point of remembering all that angst at the moment. Not when he had two arms full of John Watson to think of. Two arms of _naked_ John Watson. No, these thoughts could come later when his doctor was sleeping so that he didn’t need to see the look on his lover’s face when he yet again come to think of how much he’d hurt the one that for him mattered the most, even if it was to save him from someone as dangerous as Moriarty. He therefore pushed the thoughts aside and instead pressed the doctor up against the wall, right underneath the running water. It worked for half a minute (twenty three more seconds than last time, best so far) before John felt the need to be in command. Someday the detective would try and wrestle him, but today he felt more than willing to oblige.

Somehow John managed to get them all covered in soap (Sherlock’s expensive shower gel with a vague minty scent) which he then rinsed off. He also did a half made attempt of shampooing Sherlock’s hair, but since there is lots of curls which likes to tangle (John would know, he’s got a habit of running his hands through them as often as he gets the chance) this is not something you do with one hand while cuddling you lover’s butt with the other. Even Sherlock himself, who usually couldn’t think of anything more important than making sure that the inky hair of his always got the best care there was to offer, found the matter of actual showering non-important this time. Although, he had to admit he was beginning to grow a bit restless so the priority changed from making out to getting off rather quickly after the failed attempt of hair washing. The restlessness had nothing to do with what was going on in the bathroom though. No, it was all because of the slight scent of cinnamon that had started to grow in the apartment. John was far too busy making hickeys on the taller man’s neck to notice. (Mark which he later on would frown upon, considering it childish at an age of forty two, although the younger man actually quite liked being “claimed” in that manner, since all this was very new to him.) This gave Sherlock a hint of getting the whole thing going before the doctor would feel the need to call it off in order to get back to the baking. (Although why anyone would ever consider leaving for something as dull as muffins when they could get off with their love was something he would never understand.) Without further ado he therefore went to his knees and started, well let’s be delicate, work on the doctor’s more intimate parts.

“Oh god, oh Sherlock, oh Jesus, oh Sherl, I-I-I’m going to…” and that was the cue Sherlock needed in order to back off and move away. He still hadn’t got hang of the whole gape and swallow thing, all things in their own time. When in a hurry John needed about twelve seconds after ejaculating before he could do anything whatsoever, otherwise he would like at least a minute to breath before getting to his lover’s needs. (That was one of the main reasons Sherlock usually climaxed first, his recovery time was as good as non-existent.) Something must have triggered the doctor today, because in less than ten seconds after he had sunk to the floor with a more-than-delighted expression on his face, he told Sherlock to come closer so that he could finishing him off. “Oh babe, that was, oh god you and your silly mouth. And knowing that I am your first. Oh god, think about how it will be in some years, fucking shit.” The fact that John seemed to be of the intention that it’d still be them in years to come warmed Sherlock more than he could put in words. That and how he cursed like a sailor, which proved Sherlock’s skills if anything. “Let me take care of you now, my honeycomb.” John’s partiality to call Sherlock silly names after sex was yet another thing that made the detective’s heart flutter, although this was one thing he would never admit, not even to the poet in question.

With his hand John saw to his love and together with some heated kissing Sherlock was done for in no time. Afterwards they just lay there, John’s back leaning against the wall with Sherlock on his chest. It took many minutes before one of them (John, of course) could get himself sorted so to just stop the water from running and that is when it all happened.

“Sherlock, love, can you smell something?”

“Of course. In fact I can smell many things, really John, could you just try to do something close to trying to think for a change?” This didn’t come out nearly as sarcastic as it was meant to, in fact it all sounded quite sweet and filled of love to be honest. Unfortunately (fortunately?) this all went by John since he now was standing on his knees, sniffing the air soundly.

“Sherlock, I can really smell something. It smells like smoke, like something is burning. OH MY GOD SHERLOCK THE MUFFINS! THE MUFFINS ARE BURNING! CHRIST!” and with that John ran out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. If Sherlock wasn’t feeling something he would later come to terms with being guilt he would’ve laughed out loud at the silliness of a stark naked John, panicking over an oven that was starting to leap flames. Instead he helped his ex-soldier by handing him the fire extinguisher to keep the flames at bay. It wasn’t before long until they’re out of danger, although the state of the kitchen was beyond recovery. This would later on be the cause of quite a tantrum on John’s part, but right now all he did was sit down by the table where the mess of the food war was, if possible, worse than what he’d remembered it to be, and sigh. Sherlock got seated carefully beside him.

This is where we leave them; John in agony over how humiliating it’d be to tell Mrs. Hudson that the rent would be late once again in order to afford a new stove and Sherlock in deep thoughts on how to create an experiment which could show exactly why cinnamon were the only scent that was to be found among the smell of a burnt kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first finished fanfic ever, so I have to admit it feels a bit scary posting online. x)  
> Since English is not my main language I ask for your patience regarding grammar mistakes etc.. :)


End file.
